My Dad Sherlock Holmes
by Marie Holmes
Summary: Sherlock with a teenage daughter. The story is based on a tumblr-post that has been going around for some time: Imagine Sherlock with a teenage daughter. Oh God, Daddy Sherlock. The teenage male populaion would be frightened for their life. Don't even mention Uncle Mycroft. Or Godfather John.


"Dad? ", I ask as I enter the flat: „Dad, are you there? "  
No answer.  
I turn around to Nicolas: "He's not there. It's safe!"  
Nicolas follows me inside: "You keep talking about your father as if he's some sort of weirdo!"  
"Long story", I'm not going to explain it to him besides I don't want to talk about it and he will see for himself very soon "Tea?"  
"I had something different in mind", while he takes my one hand his other hand wanders to my chin.  
We kiss.  
It's not much, it's not like the other times, and there is no passion.  
I need to change that!  
I wrap my hands around his face and take control of the kiss. I force my tongue between his lips and he returns the kiss.  
Just in that second we hear steps coming up the stairs. We quickly dissolve our embrace.  
The door opens and my father comes in. He immediately stops as he recognizes that he's not the first to enter the flat. He looks at me, than at Nicolas, then back at me and raises his eyebrow.  
"Dad, this is-", I start to explain but he interrupts me.  
"A boy, who was clearly hoping to shag you tonight, judging by the tin of mints and packet of condoms in his pockets. Next!"  
I can believe it, he's done it again!  
Nicolas looks at me in disbelieve: "This is your father? Him? Your father is Sherlock Holmes?!"  
Before I can answer my dad does: "Clearly", he's grinning again. It's this stupid: 'You are stupid, I am brilliant, go away!' grinning that everyone hates. The grinning I adopted from him. "And whoever you are, you may leave now! And I don't want you to see her ever again! Don't even try to, I will know!"  
Nicolas looks at me, a slightly frightened but mostly frustrated and confused look in his eyes: "The others where right, you are weird and you are no different from your father! I don't even know why I wasted my time with you!" he runs out, grabbing his jacket on the way and slams the front door shut behind him.  
I feel the sadness growing inside of me, but my anger outweighs it by far. Tears are starting to fill my eyes.  
My Dad looks at me, puzzled by my reaction.  
"Why?" I ask him through my clenched teeth. I can barely contain myself not to shout at him. "Why do you always have to spoil everything?!"

Before he can answer I march past him, through the door and up the stair to my room. I don't need to lock the door, he won't come after me, I know. He will try to figure out what he did wrong or more likely why I reacted the way I reacted. Maybe he will call John. He can explain it to him, I won't.  
I throw myself onto the bed and bury my head in the pillow.  
It's freshly washed, I can smell roses, Mrs. Hudsons favorite detergent.  
I think about Nicolas.  
I'm not even that sad. Not as sad as I was after Mark. It wasn't serious with Nicolas anyway. It was more in a 'relationship-practice' kind of way. It was nothing compared to Mark.  
"Well, maybe it was", a voice inside my head reminds me: "You only kissed Mark once… Nicolas however…" I decide to ignore that voice.  
It doesn't work:  
Mark was your first love, that doesn't mean he was more important to you than Nicolas!"  
"It doesn't matter who was more important to me", I say to myself: "Now they're both gone! Thanks to Dad…"

I don't know for how long I've been lying on my bed now, it feels like an eternity!  
All of a sudden there's a knock on the door: "Darling, will you unlock the door?!"  
"It's open!" I mumble into my pillow.  
Another knock on the door "Darling?!" the knocking intensifies: "Darling?!"  
Sighing, I turn my head around, just far enough that she'll hear me answering: "It's open!"

Mrs. Hudson comes in, carrying a tablet in her hands. I sit up on my bed.  
She places the tablet on the bedside table, not without pushing some of my things down to the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry darling. But you really have to clean up your room from time to time!" she lectures me. She sits down next to me and tries to fix to fix my ruffled hair from the static on the pillow. "Oh dear, oh dear!" she looks upset, but I know she secretly likes it when she carp/grumble about something I've done.  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
I laugh sarcastically: "No…!"  
"You know he's not doing this to hurt you. Even if it seems like that, he just doesn't want you to get hurt."


End file.
